


Blue Eyes

by loves_books



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dementia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 08:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11551647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: It’s a cruel, cruel disease.





	Blue Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Please take a look at the tags, if you haven't already. Huge thanks to Perclexed for taking the time to offer a very helpful second opinion.

It’s a cruel, cruel disease.

He is painfully reminded of that fact over and over again, each time he stares into those deep blue eyes. These are eyes that are almost more familiar to him now than those that look back at him in the mirror each day – how strange, how awful to see no hint of recognition in their depths.

Oh, those eyes might still have a sparkle about them most days, and hopefully they always will. They seem to shift and change with the weather, one moment shining bright then turning almost silver-grey in the next, a thousand possible beautiful shades at any given moment. But they no longer recognise _him_ , and that hurts so badly to witness, cutting him somewhere deep in his chest.

He’s taken far too much for granted over the years. He always assumed they would have time to figure things out between them, and to say what needed to be said. How often has he heard that well-worn phrase: “you never know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone”?

Truer words…

He visits as often as he can bear, which isn’t anywhere near as often as he should. This evil, heartless disease crept in too quickly, stealthily almost, while neither of them were looking, and left no time to prepare. Not that they could have done a single thing to slow it down, even had they spotted the early warning signs, though of course that’s very small comfort now.

It started with tiny, excusable lapses. Things that could be blamed on a moment of distraction or a lack of sleep, like a missed word here and there. A stumble over a name, a forgotten person or place. Lost car keys, or milk found in the freezer rather than the fridge, or an uncharacteristically mangled misquote, all coming more and more frequently as time went by. They didn’t put the pieces together until it was too late.

They should’ve known, or at least suspected. 

Apparently it can be genetic.

But neither of them wanted to acknowledge it, or even to admit that the possibility existed. Who would ever want to consider something so terrible happening to someone they love? And he does still love the man, he always will. When he visits, when he can bring himself to drive out to the special care home they chose so carefully, he says those words out loud as often as he can – _I love you, I love you, I love you_ – knowing all the time that he should’ve said them more often while they could still have been understood and appreciated.

He just never expected that their time together would be so short.

It’s a cruel disease, and a cruel, cruel world. There are good days and bad days, for each of them, and sometimes on a good day there is even a flash of what could almost be recognition when he walks into the room. His heart leaps into his throat each time it happens, adrenaline flooding his body, but his hopes are always dashed when the wrong name slips from those familiar lips. Never _his_ name. 

On bad days he is greeted with shouting and swearing, and occasionally with flying fists. On the very worst days, the nurses at the front desk quietly suggest it might be better if he comes back another time.

When he drives away after each painful visit, the guilt is almost overwhelming. He always feels he should have been stronger, strong enough to have the other man at home with him, regardless of the challenges. For better or for worse, that’s what they promised. But he knows he isn’t strong enough to cope with the hollow ache in his chest every time he looks into those blue, blue eyes and sees… nothing.

He just isn’t strong enough, in far too many ways, but in his heart he does know that the other man would forgive him entirely, had he any understanding of what was happening to him now. It’s perhaps some small blessing that it all happened so quickly, leaving no time for more than a fleeting realisation that a once-formidable mind was disintegrating entirely. The essence of the man had disappeared almost overnight, in the end, leaving little more than a shell.

And so now he visits when he can, and on those rare good days he sits and talks about his life for a little while, reminiscing about their good old days, then he reads out loud from poetry books or newspapers or thick novels until his voice grows hoarse and the daylight starts to fade.

Only then does he stand, stretching carefully, and he squeezes a trembling hand that used to be steady and strong. Sometimes he even leans closer and presses a careful kiss to a cool forehead before reluctantly turning to go.

“Bye, James,” Robbie whispers every time, as those emotionless blue eyes follow him from the room. His own eyes always fill with tears he refuses to let fall until later, when he is safely back in what used to be their bedroom, and now is his alone. “I’ll see you soon, my canny lad.”


End file.
